The Twelve Days of Tony's Christmas
by NotARedhead
Summary: Some DiNozzo holiday cheer. Again, to balance the angst meter. Now complete! See author's note in Chapter 1. Standard disclaimer. All hail DPB.
1. December 14 & 15

_**Author's Note: **As you might suspect, I felt it necessary to write something to counteract all the "Tony Holiday Angst" that's out there. A little something to balance out the "Poor Tony, who's never had a merry Christmas" plotlines. Please don't take this as a criticism of the writers of "Tony Holiday Angst." I have enjoyed reading many of those stories. I just see him as having had a slightly happier childhood and having turned into a truly tradition-friendly adult who celebrates Christmas in his own unique DiNozzo-y way. I hope you are all having merry and bright holiday seasons!_

* * *

**The Twelve Days of Tony's Christmas**

**DECEMBER 14**

It was nearly 8 p.m. when Tony DiNozzo wandered onto the Christmas tree lot in Anacostia. He'd hoped to get out of work a little earlier, but unfortunately, criminals don't break for the holidays, and they'd ended up pulling a "gotta solve this before the end of the day" case involving a body found stuffed in a chimney. Santa Claus jokes abounded at the crime scene, and were even more prevalent once the body was in autopsy and it was discovered that the guy had likely been wearing a fake beard and heavy black boots.

As it turned out, though, it was just a regular old petty thief and murderer who was trying to hide out after robbing two houses on base and killing a security guard. The fact that the security guard was the estranged son of a senator is what made it a "gotta solve this before the end of the day" case. It had been a hell of a day, but they'd solved it. And it was now time for Tony to buy his Christmas tree.

Ever since Tony was a kid, December 14 had been "Christmas Tree Day." His grandmother called it "the first day of Christmas" and it was the day that the decorations went up. Tony had kept this up pretty much his entire adult life, much to the amusement of his frat brothers and the confusion of most of the guys at most of the forces he'd worked. Tony's strict adherence to tradition got him teased a lot, but most of his friends were also secretly glad that they had an honest-to-God St. Nick in their midst, just to remind them that there was peace and joy somewhere.

Tony discovered in college that the decorations were also a huge chick magnet. Even though they were tradition and something that Tony would do every year, no matter what else or who else was on his agenda, the girls he was seeing always thought he'd done it to impress **them**. "Oh, Tony … how sweeeeeeeeeet", his girlfriends would coo when they found the decorated tree in his apartment, complete with partridges and pears. They'd go on and on about how cute it was and how wonderful he was to decorate and how they all wanted to be the angel on top of – or the present beneath – his Christmas tree. (The First Day of Christmas was traditionally a particularly 'lucky' day for DiNozzo, if you get my drift.)

It took Tony a little over an hour to find the perfect tree. He didn't have any firm requirements regarding height or type or style. It was just one of those "I'll know it when I see it" things. Sometimes he ended up with a 10-footer that just barely fit inside his high-ceiling-ed apartment. Sometimes it was a four- or five-footer that looked dwarfed by the television. But it was always a perfect shape and it always had the right personality. ("Don't laugh," Tony would tell people. "You have to get a tree that likes you." Everyone except his grandmother would just shake their head and walk away. Tony's grandmother would look at him and know that she'd passed all the right things along to her grandson.)

By 9:30 p.m. Tony was home and the tree was in its stand and regally stationed in the living room. It was a 6-foot tree this year, with big bushy branches and just one small bare spot in the back where it faced the wall. By midnight, the tree was covered in white lights and golden pear ornaments, with his grandmother's clip-on partridge ornaments on random branches. More ornaments and candy canes and small photos and gifts would go on the tree over the next few days, but December 14 was always just partridges and pears.

Tony put away the last of the boxes of lights and swept up the few pine needles that had fallen, and then he spread out the Christmas tree skirt that his grandmother had embroidered the year before she died. It was, of course, The Twelve Days of Christmas, and it was another part of the tradition. After making sure that everything was cleaned up and that nothing was likely to catch on fire, Tony went to the kitchen and got a glass of eggnog, splashed a little rum into it, turned off all the other lights in the apartment, and sat down to look at his tree. "Not bad, DiNozzo," he said to himself with a smile. "Not bad at all."

**DECEMBER 15**

Yes, he knew it was one of the busiest mailing days of the year, but the second day of Christmas was the day that he mailed presents to all of those people he needed to mail presents to. He sent them to his father, of course, and to a few cousins and aunts and uncles who he kept in touch with. He sent them to a couple of frat buddies from Ohio State, and to the one ex-girlfriend he had who hadn't totally disowned him. She lived with her family in Utah, and he had to admit that he had a lot more fun picking out toys for her three kids (boy triplets – yikes!) than almost any other presents he shopped for. He also sent presents to his best friend Jess, who was currently stationed somewhere in Alaska, and to Paula Cassidy, still in Cuba. And he sent presents to a couple of his old buddies in Baltimore, and to one dispatch sergeant in Peoria.

The dispatch sergeant was old enough to be his mother and had retired years ago, but Tony sent her Godiva chocolates every year because she'd said once how nice it was to get expensive chocolates from a handsome man. Tony grinned as he signed the card, knowing how pleased she'd be at getting the dark chocolate truffles this year. (Her subtle hint in last year's thank you note about how she saved all the dark chocolate ones for last because they were her favorites had not gone unheeded.)

His buddies in Balto got bottles of Scotch, except for Gary, the recovering alcoholic, who got the annual barrel of popcorn, with the caramel corn, cheese corn, and buttered corn split. Gary LOVED popcorn. Tony still remembered the April Fool's Day in Baltimore when Gary had filled every locker and every in-box and every drawer of every desk with popped popcorn (mercifully, unbuttered) and then laughed uproariously as his pals slowly worked their way through to get to papers, badges, office supplies, evidence tags, and coffee cups. Tony was still finding popcorn that year on his birthday in July.

His frat brothers all got variations on the Victoria's Secret calendar, along with gift cards to the NFL shop online. (Except for Jason. Jason got the NFL gift card, but his calendar was the annual FDNY calendar. Jason preferred hunky firemen to lingerie models.)

His ex-girlfriend Kimmy (although he suspected that she went by 'Kimberley' now) always got a gift card to Barnes & Noble. She was a manic reader, and some of that had rubbed off on Tony his sophomore year. She'd gotten him hooked on biographies in college, and had sent him a new one every year since then. He never, ever bought a new biography when he went book shopping. That was Kimmy's job. He sent Kimmy's husband an NCIS hat, which she'd hinted last year that he wanted. But the best part was the kids. Last year they were three and Tony had sent them each a fire truck (with real sirens and movable ladders), but this year they were four, and he sent footballs. Authentic Ohio State (Nerf) footballs. It was never too early to get them hooked. Tony knew Kimmy would laugh as the kids unwrapped them.

Paula was tough this year. One year Tony sent her lingerie (it was the "free gift with purchase" when he got the guys their Victoria's Secret calendars), but that didn't go over well. He'd received it back – shredded – on Valentine's Day. Last year he'd sent a food basket, which she'd said was truly welcome in Cuba, but it made him feel like he was copping out. This year he went for a full selection of holiday films – all the classics – dubbed into Spanish. She'd laugh at that.

Jess was easy – jewelry. He always sent her jewelry, and she always sent him toys. "Grown-ups don't get enough toys for Christmas," Tony could hear her saying. And so she'd always send toys. Sometimes they were games and Legos and action figures. Sometimes, "toy" was more loosely defined, and he'd get an iPod or some other electronic gadget. He always looked forward to Jess' presents.

Most of Tony's relatives were easy to buy for – they liked Omaha Steaks and Harry & David cheesecakes.

Tony's father was always the challenge. This year, though, Tony had scored big-time. As far back as he could remember, Tony's dad's favorite film star was Sean Connery. His dad had every movie Connery had ever done (even the obscure ones, like "Time Lock", a 1957 film where Connery played 'Welder #1'). His frat brother Jason had theatre connections, and had helped get Tony tickets to Sean Connery's visit to "Inside the Actor's Studio" in April, along with an invite to the private reception afterwards. Tony really wished he could see his dad's face when he opened that present. Heh. He had definitely won the gift-giving lottery this year. (Not that it was a competition …)

Tony was jolted out of his reverie when he felt someone pushing him from behind. He looked over his shoulder. There was an elderly woman shoving him. "You're next!" she said, with a hint of annoyance. Tony looked up – the postal clerk was motioning to him.

"I can help the next person!" the clerk said loudly, in a tone of voice that indicated he'd said it a few times already.

"Sorry," Tony said, a bit sheepishly, to the woman standing behind him. He smiled his best DiNozzo smile and took his turn at the counter. As he left the Post Office ten minutes later, he grinned and called a "Merry Christmas!" back to the elderly woman. The woman smiled and blushed just a bit and wondered if the postal clerk would give her the handsome man's home address and if it was acceptable in this day and age to date someone that young.


	2. December 16 & 17

**DECEMBER 16**

Tony walked into the office whistling "The Twelve Days of Christmas". He'd been singing, humming or whistling it since he woke up. December 16 was Secret Santa day.

Every year, Tony would buy a whole bunch of something – some small gift – and he'd hide them everywhere in the office. It was never anything big or expensive. One year it was just bundles of candy canes. One year it was small packets of peppermint hot chocolate. One year it was silver jingle bells tied with red ribbons, although Director Morrow had ordered everyone to "take those infernal things home with you, and that's an order!" at the end of the day. Tony had put bells on the permanent "Naughty List" that year.

As far as he knew, the only ones who had figured out who the true Secret Santa was were Abby and McGee. He'd run into them the year before last very early in the morning as he was planting gifts and they were coming in early to do some computer updating or something. Abby nearly burst into tears, she thought it was so sweet, and McGee was … well … McGee was speechless. He simply couldn't believe that Tony was spending his time and his money hiding presents for virtually everyone in the office. Tony had sworn them to secrecy, and they hadn't told a soul. Abby always offered to help, but this was Tony's tradition, and he'd managed to make her understand.

He'd started the whole Secret Santa thing when he was ten years old. His dad was particularly stressed at work and that stress was rubbing off on everyone. Tony had taken some of his allowance money and bought little boxes of candy, enough for everyone on the staff, plus his mom and dad and a few neighbors. It had cost him about $20. He'd wrapped them all in silver paper and printed off labels on the computer. Then he left one for everyone, slightly hidden but in places where they'd be sure to find them. He got a big kick out of hiding on the stairs watching the housekeeper and the butler and his tutor and the gardener and everyone else find their tiny gifts and then look around to try and figure out where they'd come from. Ever since then, wherever he was at Christmastime, he played Secret Santa.

Tony had totally scored on his Secret Santa gifts this year. He'd found a book warehouse that had miniature copies of "'Twas the Night Before Christmas" for a buck a piece. He'd bought 75 of them and tied white ribbons around each one. Then, just after two o'clock that morning, he'd come back into the building and dropped one on every single desk. He'd even managed to get one into the Director's office, since they were thin enough to slide under the door. He'd left one for Palmer and Ducky and even Gibbs. Gibbs would never admit it, but he liked the surprise gifts (except the year that the gift was gingerbread-flavored coffee). Gibbs suspected it was Tony who did the gifting, but he never said anything. It reminded him of those magical "Christmas things" that Shannon and Kelly used to like so much, and he actually looked forward to it every year.

Tony walked in whistling "The Twelve Days of Christmas" just as Ziva was getting to her desk.

"What's this?" she asked, picking the small beribboned book out of her rolodex.

McGee smiled and glanced at Tony. "It's a Secret Santa gift," he said, finding his own copy in the pocket of the jacket he'd left on the back of his chair the night before.

"Secret Santa?" Ziva said, with a curious look.

"It happens every year," Gibbs said, as he walked in with coffee. "Someone leaves little gifts on everyone's desk one day during the holidays. Everyone gets something, and no one knows who it is." Gibbs' gift was hidden under his phone.

"Remember the year with the bells?" Tony said, pulling his little book off his bulletin board (because like all good Secret Santas, Tony left himself a present every year too, just to throw people off).

Abby bounced into the squad room, holding her Secret Santa gift high in the air. "The bell year was fun," Abby said with a smile at Tony.

"A little goes a long way, though," Tony admitted. Abby nodded.

"And no one knows where they come from?" Ziva said.

"It's a total mystery, my dear," Ducky said as he came into the bullpen. "If anyone is free at lunchtime, Mr. Palmer is going to regale us all with a reading of "'Twas the Night Before Christmas" down in the morgue."

Tony looked at Ducky with concern. "I don't know whether to be scared of that or not." Gibbs chuckled.

Ziva picked up her phone.

"Whatcha doin', Zee-vah?" Tony teased from across the way.

"I'm going to pull the security footage from last night and early this morning," she said. "Whoever left these has to be on the footage. We can find out who it is."

"Um, Ziva?" McGee began, with just a touch of panic in his voice. "It's supposed to be a secret."

"Hence the term 'Secret Santa'," Abby continued, somewhat alarmed that Tony might be discovered.

"But don't you want to know?" Ziva said, looking at her colleagues with confusion.

"No," they all said in unison.

"It takes the fun away if we find out who it is, my dear," Ducky said as he walked over and took the handset out of Ziva's hand and placed it back on the phone cradle. "It's obviously something that someone very much enjoys doing, and it would ruin it for them if we found out who it was."

Ziva looked around at her co-workers, who all seemed genuinely worried that she would unmask the secret gift-giver. She shrugged.

"I don't understand you people sometimes," she said. But she took another look at her tiny copy of Clement C. Moore's poem and smiled. Then she put it under the small menorah she had on top of the filing cabinet.

**DECEMBER 17**

December 17th – the fourth day of Christmas – was the date of the annual NCIS office party. This was an after-work party, with music, food and some very spiked punch, and was mandatory for all. Even Gibbs had to stay at the office and at least make an appearance.

Tony walked into the conference room wearing a red shirt with a green tie and with a sprig of holly pinned to his lapel. Everyone else was festively attired as well; even Ziva had little dreidl earrings. Abby was wearing a green t-shirt with "Santa's Naughty Elf" written on it in red, and McGee was wearing a red sweater with white snowflakes; a sweater that Tony suspected some female relative had made for him.

Director Shepherd made the annual, "You've all worked hard this year, and your country thanks you" speech, after which she started to head back to her office until Gibbs commented that "Jenn Scrooge" wouldn't even require a change in monograms. There was a moment of silence and then everyone laughed as the Director grabbed a glass of sparkling cider and commandeered an entire tray of mini spring rolls.

Tony liked parties, generally, and he was okay with this one, but he knew that it would end the same way it always did – with a handful of slightly drunk women chasing him around the room with mistletoe. And so it came to pass that Bobbi from Personnel, along with Greta and Jeri from Word Processing, spent the next hour or so trying to corner Tony. Thankfully, the conference room was crowded and there were a lot of male clerks and I.T. guys who were happy to run interference. Tony managed to stay one step ahead of the girls until they got tired of the game and sat down near the dessert tray.

"Don't get me wrong," Tony said to Max, the evidence tech he was using for camouflage in the corner, "mistletoe is not, in itself, a bad thing. But it has to be used responsibly."

Max nodded earnestly and sympathetically, but he also closed his eyes and made his annual Christmas wish – "Just let me spend one Saturday night as Tony DiNozzo."


	3. December 18 & 19

**DECEMBER 18**

About a week before Christmas each year, Tony and Ducky would get together to take Mrs. Mallard to see "The Nutcracker." It was always playing somewhere, and it didn't really matter how professional of a production it was – it was Mrs. Mallard's favorite ballet and her most treasured holiday tradition.

It had, for a long time, just been Ducky and his mother. Tony got involved the year he started at NCIS. Ducky had mentioned that he'd really wanted to take his mother to the ballet, as he always did this time of year, but that it was going to be difficult, as she'd recently had a hip replacement and was still a bit wobbly on her feet. Everyone in the office had been shocked when Tony volunteered as a second escort. They knew that he wasn't a big fan of ballet, nor was he exactly Mrs. Mallard's favorite person. But he was, as Abby said later, "just a really nice guy" and it was assumed that his penchant for helping people was what made him offer his help.

In truth, "The Nutcracker" was something that had been part of Tony's holidays since about the 7th grade. He'd had a crush on one of the snowflakes and had talked his father into buying tickets to the local production. His father hated ballet – he was a symphony man – and so Tony went with the parents of one of the boys in the production. The boy was also part of the lacrosse team at Tony's school (taking ballet lessons as punishment for making fun of two guys in the school musical), so Tony just told people that he was going to support his friend.

The crush on the dancing snowflake only lasted a couple of weeks, but his appreciation of the skill and strength needed to perform some of the dances in that ballet stayed with him for a long time. It wasn't as though Tony liked ballet. He didn't. He liked "The Nutcracker." And so, when Ducky took him up on his offer to see a local production that first year, it had been the beginning of another tradition.

This year, the American Ballet Theatre was performing "The Nutcracker" at Kennedy Center, and Tony was really looking forward to it. It was "Patron Night", which meant black tie, and Tony was eager to pull out his rarely-used tuxedo and play the role of a pillar of society for the evening.

He showed up on the Mallard's doorstep at 6 p.m. sharp. They wanted to get to the theater in time for the seven o'clock champagne reception. Tony knocked and was met by the expected cacophony of barking dogs. The door opened, and an elegantly-dressed Mrs. Mallard looked at him suspiciously.

"Hello, Mrs. Mallard," Tony said with a slight bow. "I'm Anthony DiNozzo, remember? I work with your son. You look stunning this evening."

"I've never seen you before in my life," the woman replied with a scowl, "and if you don't get off of my front porch this moment, I shall have you shot." She leaned in to share a secret. "I have guns, you know," she whispered.

"Yes, I know," Tony said with a knowing nod and just the right amount of appreciation. "But I'm here to escort you to the ballet."

With that, Mrs. Mallard again considered the handsome, tuxedoed man standing in front of her and smiled coyly.

"I'll just go and slip into something more comfortable, then," she said with a bat of the eyelashes. "If we're going to be dancing." She walked back inside, leaving the door open behind her. Tony took that as an invitation, and walked into the house, being careful not to agitate the dogs.

A moment or two later Ducky appeared, dapper as well in his tux. "Happy Christmas, Tony," he said, shaking Tony's hand and then pulling him into a light hug. "I do appreciate you agreeing to this for another year."

"Wouldn't miss it for the world, Ducky," Tony said with a smile. "Merry Christmas."

At that moment, all conversation and, for that matter, thought, ceased as Mrs. Mallard began to descend the stairway dressed in nothing but her slip and garter belt.

"What did you say to her?" Ducky inquired quietly, with a side glance at Tony.

"I told her we were going to the ballet," Tony said, trying not to make eye contact with Mrs. Mallard, who was obviously feeling a bit frisky, if her dance-kicks down the stairs and her amorous expression were any indication. "She said something about changing into something more comfortable, for dancing."

"Ah," Ducky said, as he moved to help his mother back upstairs to her dressing room. "I should have told you. She used to be a chorus girl."

"Mother," Ducky said at a slightly louder volume, "we're going to the Patron's Gala at the ballet. You'll want to wear your gold gown, don't you think?"

Mrs. Mallard looked momentarily confused, and then angry. She pointed an accusing finger at Tony. "HE said we were going dancing," she said. "I'd have never put this on if I knew we were going to a gala! Why don't you tell me these things, Donald? Honestly." And with that, she allowed herself to be coaxed back upstairs to dress.

"Sorry … Duck …" Tony began. But Ducky was waving over his shoulder as if to say, "No worries, it happens all the time," and Tony suspected that it probably did.

The rest of the evening was relatively uneventful. The ballet was beautifully performed, and Tony was even able to get three phone numbers at the champagne reception afterwards – two sugar plums and a Spanish dancer. He'd been approached for **his** number by one of the Russian dancers and the Mouse King, but he tactfully turned them down. It happened every year.

Mrs. Mallard told all of her dowager friends at the gala that Tony was her new "boy toy" and went into great detail explaining all of the things they did together, none of which were true, of course. That happened every year too.

By half-past midnight, Ducky was tucking his mother into bed and Tony was sitting in the living room of the Mallard's house, watching the fire. It was also tradition for the two men to share a glass of cognac once the evening was over. Ducky walked into the room, poured two glasses of the dark amber liquid, loosened his tie, and moved to sit in the chair across from Tony. Tony took his glass from Ducky and the two men saluted each other.

"Disaster averted for another year, I'd say," Ducky commented as he took a sip of cognac and sighed a relaxed sigh.

"Well, give or take the 'chorus girl' episode," Tony chuckled as he, too, sipped the rich liquor.

"Yes," Ducky agreed, laughing quietly. "But at least this year it happened here instead of in the ladies room on the loge."

Tony laughed at the memory. "Yes," he said with a grin. "That **was** a Christmas to remember, wasn't it?"

Ducky laughed. "I do apologize for mother consistently telling her friends that you are her 'male escort'," Ducky said with an apologetic look. "She's just a bit addled, you know."

"Oh, she knows exactly what she's saying," Tony said with a knowing nod and a smile. "And I don't mind at all. Just consider it my annual Christmas present."

The two men finished their drinks in companionable silence, and Tony stood to leave.

"Thank you again, my boy," Ducky said, shaking Tony's hand and giving him another brief hug. "I hope Santa Claus brings you everything you desire."

"He pretty much already has, Duck," Tony said with a smile. Then, a wink. "But if I come up short, I'll be back for your mother."

With Ducky's laughter following him out the door, Tony went into the cold December night, feeling warmer for the cognac, and looking forward to the remaining seven days of Christmas.

**DECEMBER 19**

The sixth day of Christmas dawned crisp and cold. It was the weekend, and Tony was perfectly happy to stay curled up in bed, under the covers, with visions of sugar plums dancing through his head. But he'd promised Abby that he would help at the annual Toys for Tots drive this year, and so he pulled himself out of bed, dressed in dark brown corduroys, work boots, and his one "Christmas sweater" (the dark green one with the snow-covered trees and red cardinals that he'd gotten from Kate), and headed out into the winter morning to sort toys.

Tony had to admit that if he was going to be volunteered into indentured servitude, he could do a lot worse than spend the day sorting toys. They had to take the thousands of toys donated from a dozen government agencies and sort them into boxes by approximate age and gender. Although the whole gender thing, he mused, was getting harder to determine. Do the pirate toys and Hot Wheels really only go to the boys? And who's to say that there isn't a budding Emeril Lagasse out there who wouldn't love an Easy-Bake Oven for Christmas instead of a dump truck?

Tony pulled up to the designated "Toy Staging Area" and surveyed the chaos. Trucks were arriving steadily, and dozens of camouflaged and uniformed Marines were unloading boxes, moving pallets of stuffed animals, and directing traffic. In the middle of it all, he saw Gibbs, laughing and chatting with another Gunny near an empty box truck, the ever-present cup of coffee in his hand.

"Tony!" he heard behind him as he got out of his car. He turned and was greeted by a peppy, caffeine-enriched Abby. She was dressed in all things red and green, and wore a Santa hat that had been altered to allow her pigtails to poke out from the sides. He greeted her with a hug.

"Where do you want me, Abbs?" Tony said, looking at the area and trying to see where additional hands were needed.

"So many places, Tony," Abby said, with a suggestive smile. "So many places." Tony grinned and shook his head. "But for the time being," she continued, "they could use your help sorting through the plush. We've got literally a ton of stuffed animals, and we need to sort them out by species."

"Yes ma'am," Tony said, saluting her smartly and heading for the far end of the lot. "Off to sort animals I shall go."

And for the next four hours – with occasional hot chocolate breaks – that's what Tony did. By the time he and six other volunteers had made it through the pile, Tony's corduroy pants were covered in small bits of multi-colored fuzz, and he honestly didn't care if he ever saw another stuffed anything again. But the sorting assignment had been a success. There were several dozen separate boxes of plush toys, neatly placed in categories like "Cats" (domestic and exotic each had their own area), "Zoo" (with side categories for elephants, monkeys and giraffes, which were the most popular), "Birds" (flamingos got their own section), and "Farm" (with a separate area for horses). Plus, Tony had exchanged phone numbers with one female lieutenant colonel and the television reporter who had come out to cover the arrival and dispatching of the toys.

Gibbs and Abby watched from the refreshment station as Tony chatted up the local news crew.

"Tony could pick up a date at a soup kitchen," Gibbs said to Abby with a shake of the head and a chuckle.

"Oh, he has," she said, with a knowing smile.


	4. December 20 & 21

**DECEMBER 20**

"Hello?" said the female voice on the other line.

"Hi there," Tony said in his best 'seduction' voice. "What are you wearing?"

An equally seductive voice answered him. "I've got on a pair of green striped flannel pajama bottoms, a long-sleeved dark red t-shirt, and a pair of grey wool socks. What are you wearing?"

Tony chuckled. "Red plaid flannel pajama bottoms, a short-sleeved Ohio State t-shirt, and I'm … sockless," he answered with a kind of 'James Bond'-esque attitude.

"Apparently it's a lot warmer there than it is here then," Jess said with a light laugh.

"Well," Tony replied, "you are a mile above the Arctic Circle, so that would stand to reason. You having a Christmas that's merry and bright?"

"Merry, yes. Bright … not so much. We're kind of in 24-hour nighttime up here." (Jess was currently working a stint in a research lab in Barrow, Alaska.)

"Did you get your present?" Tony asked, hoping everything made it to the Far North in time.

"I did," Jess said. "It's under the tree. You get yours?"

"Yup," Tony acknowledged. "Under the tree."

The preliminaries out of the way, Tony got down to business. "So … hot chocolate?" he queried.

"Check," Jess confirmed.

"Popcorn?"

"Check."

"Christmas cookies?"

"Check."

"Gentlemen," Jess said. "Start your DVD players."

Tony gave them a '3, 2, 1' countdown and they both hit 'Play' at exactly the same time. A few seconds later, the opening strains of "A Charlie Brown Christmas" began to play, and the two friends settled down to watch the traditional Christmas special together, even though they were 3500 miles apart.

Watching "A Charlie Brown Christmas" had been a tradition for Tony and Jess since they were kids. Every Christmas, they'd curl up on someone's couch and watch it, with hot chocolate, popcorn, and whatever Christmas cookies they could beg away from their parents, cooks, roommates, friends, or co-workers. Once they'd graduated from college and headed to opposite sides of the country (and, occasionally, the world), they'd devised a way to continue the tradition – first, with VHS tapes and now with DVDs. They'd choose a day a few days before Christmas and a time that worked for both of them, and they'd watch together, connected by phone lines. They tried watching via IMs one year, but it took too much concentration to keep typing and reading while also watching and eating and drinking. The next year, they went back to phones. They were looking forward to the day when they were close enough, geographically, to watch it in the same room again, but this wasn't a bad substitute.

They knew the story and the dialogue so well that they could practically recite it, but that didn't matter. They loved it anyway, and would 'shush' each other during favorite parts. Tony would tease Jess about her baby blanket during the Linus scenes ("It's there on the couch with you, isn't it?" he'd say, and he could feel her blush through the phone) and Jess would tease Tony about his aborted attempt to build a doghouse for the express purpose of turning it into a Sopwith Camel ("I told you your dad would say that it was foolish to build a doghouse when one did not have a dog," she'd say in her best 'DiNozzo Sr.' imitation).

They both booed at Lucy and Violet when they teased Charlie Brown, and they both recited The Christmas Story with Linus. At the end, they'd both sing along to the 'loo, loo, loo' version of "Hark the Herald Angels Sing" and then yell, "Merry Christmas Charlie Brown!" along with all the kids. And then it would be over for another year.

As the credits rolled, there was silence and a couple of sighs, almost in unison. Then there would be a few more minutes of "not wanting to hang up" chatting, each person trying to figure out one more thing to say. But eventually it would be time for them to get back to reality.

"I miss you, Dino."

"Miss you too, Jessie."

"Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas."

Tony had another tradition that he'd started the second or third year that he and Jess did the "telephone Charlie Brown" thing. He knew that he'd be feeling lonely or homesick as soon as he hung up, so he started saving all of his Christmas cards – anything he'd gotten in the mail or at work – and piling them up on his coffee table. As soon as he and Jess had hung up the phone, he'd grab the pile of cards and open them, one by one. He saved _every_ Christmas card for this ritual – including the ones from the dry cleaner, the insurance guy, and the car dealership. He'd shuffle them up and open them in no particular order. Some, like Abby's or the ones from college friends, would make him laugh. Some, like those from relatives or people like Ducky, would make him sentimental. Some, like the musical one that came from his dentist, just made him shake his head. The year after Kate died he'd gotten one from her parents – that one made him almost cry. But by the time he made it through the stack each year, he felt less like a single guy in a decorated apartment and more like a part of a whole. It was kind of like getting "Get Well" cards after the plague. Sometimes it's just nice to have a tangible reminder that there are people out there who are linked to you and who care about you.

It took Tony nearly an hour to open all the cards and read the various sentiments and year-end letters this time around. Then, feeling sleepy and content, he stood and stretched and tossed all the envelopes onto a pile by his computer. He'd update addresses over the weekend. The cards were left in a random pile on the coffee table to maybe go through again later. He put all the popcorn and hot chocolate stuff away and headed to bed, with "Christmastime is Here" still ringing in his ears.

**DECEMBER 21**

The 8th day of Christmas was the first real day of snow they'd had so far. It had started falling the night before, and by 10 a.m. it was nearly a foot deep. It was the best kind of snow too – soft and light and wet enough to pack. Tony was just about to pick up the phone to make a call when it rang. He knew instantly who it would be.

"Meet you in the park?" he said into the phone, without even saying hello.

"You know it!" came the reply. "See you in 25 minutes?"

"25 minutes."

And so began Tony's annual "snow day with Terri and Liz." Terri and Liz were both about Tony's age, and each of them had lived near him in previous apartment complexes – he'd known Liz the longest, but was good friends with both of them. The two women met each other the year they'd both happened to invite Tony to Thanksgiving dinner and he decided it would be more fun for him to invite them both to his house than it would be to choose between them. Since then, the three of them got together regularly for movies, went to ball games and concerts, and once a month they'd meet for dinner. The kind of dinner that keeps you at the restaurant for hours, talking and laughing, while the staff tries to figure out how to get you out of the booth so that they can seat someone else. Tony doubted that anyone at work would believe that he had two totally platonic female friends. But to him, they were the sisters he never had.

At 10:30, Tony walked into Anacostia Park, bundled up against the cold and wearing clothes that he didn't mind getting dirty or covered in snow. His boots crunched on the not-yet shoveled pathway as he tried to pick Terri and Liz out of the groups of people who were walking, playing, running and otherwise enjoying the winter day. Then a cold, wet snowball hit him on the top of the head, and it was war!

The snowball fight lasted all of ten minutes before the three friends called a truce and decided that it would be much more productive to build a snowman. "Snow _person_," Liz said with a fake-scolding look. Tony raised his eyebrows and smiled. "Sorry," Liz said with a laugh. "Diversity training at work."

It took them nearly an hour and a half to complete the seven-foot snowman, including the sculpting of a top hat that was trimmed with small pine cones and bits of greenery. Terri was banished from decorating after she installed a branch for the snowman's right arm that just happened to look like he was giving everyone 'the finger'.

"I can't help how branches fall and break," she said with a pout.

"No, of course you can't," Tony said with an exaggerated conciliatory tone as he patted her on the head and sent lumps of freezing snow down her back. She jumped up and pushed him into the bank of snow near the picnic table as Liz looked on shaking her head.

"Children," Liz said. "Do NOT make me stop this car …"

Tony laughed and used his position in the snow to make a snow angel, followed shortly by the two women, plopping down and creating their own. After that, all three were pretty much chilled to the bone, so it was on to the pavilion to get some hot chocolate and watch the ice skaters glide around the indoor / outdoor rink.

"What are you guys doing for Christmas this year?" Tony asked as he stirred the marshmallows into his chocolate.

"Working," Liz said. Her friends looked at her sympathetically. "And getting nearly triple time for having had my schedule changed at the last minute," she added with a grin. "I'll make more on Christmas than I did all last week."

"Dinner in January is on you, then," Tony said with a smile. He looked at Terri.

"I'll be doing the annual 'family thing' with my sister in Fredericksburg," she said. "Anyone want to come along?" she added, hopefully.

"I've met your sister," Tony said with a shudder. "It took me weeks to recover."

"And you call yourself a federal agent," Terri said with a shake of the head.

"Let me bring weapons, and I'll be happy to go," Tony said.

"What about you?" Liz said, neatly changing the subject and looking at Tony. "What are you doing for Christmas?"

"The usual," Tony said. "Presents, football, a round-robin of open houses and holiday meals. Unless we get a case."

And then, just because it was kind of a holiday-themed thing, Tony told them about the odd "guy stuck in a chimney" case from earlier in the week while they all finished their hot chocolate.

By late afternoon, the snow was starting to get slushy and everyone was pleasantly tired and unpleasantly damp and cold; it was time to call it a day and head back home. They exchanged gifts at their cars as they said their 'good-byes' and 'Merry Christmases'. Then with a final round of hugs (and handfuls of snow down each other's backs), they got in their cars and drove off.

Terri and Liz knew that Tony didn't open any of his gifts until Christmas morning, so they didn't even try to get him to open them now. Tony, on the other hand, knew that both women would have the paper ripped off their presents at the first available opportunity, most likely the long stop light at the corner near the park exit. Which was why he'd put a fairly heavy layer of Christmas confetti in between the box and the wrapping paper of each gift. As he drove home, Tony couldn't help but laugh. Terri and Liz would be vacuuming red and green glitter out of their cars until Easter.


	5. December 22 & 23

**DECEMBER 22**

The ninth day of Christmas was typically "movie night." Now, one could maintain that every night was movie night with Tony, but that wasn't really the case. He loved movies and went to them as often as possible; he owned over a hundred DVDs and was in the process of converting a lot of his VHS collection to DVD; he had over 300 films in his Nexflix queue. But nights at home were pretty rare, really, between work and other things, so Tony actually scheduled them for himself from time to time, particularly around the holidays when days were busy and time was at a premium.

Every year Tony would find a night to watch his favorite holiday films. They included "It's a Wonderful Life" (of course … duh), "A Christmas Carol" (the George C. Scott version), "Scrooged", and "Muppet Christmas Carol." Yes, he was well aware that all four films were variations on the "what if the past was different / what if I had never been born" theme, and he felt relatively certain that a psychologist could have a lot of fun with his psyche because of it.

The best thing about the films was that he practically knew them all by heart. He didn't have to be paying strict attention to them to find out how they ended, and he knew when to stop what he was doing to watch his favorite moments. Like when Bill Murray becomes a piano virtuoso at the Christmas Party or when George Bailey first meets Clarence. The rest of the time, the movies serve as background as he cleans and wraps gifts and tweaks decorations for the final nights before Christmas.

Tony came slogging into his apartment at 6:30 p.m. on the ninth day of Christmas. They'd all been let out early due to the truly cruddy weather. Washington DC had pretty much shut down due to blowing snow and quickly plummeting temperatures, and the Director had wanted everyone to make it home before someone decided to close down highways or stop public transportation. It had taken Tony nearly three hours to make what was normally a 45-minute trip from the NCIS offices to his place, and by the time he got home, he was cranky and cold and feeling very much like Scrooge himself. He decided to start with "A Christmas Carol." He put the DVD in and plopped on the couch without even changing out of his crumpled damp clothes. He was just too tired and cross. By the time George C. Scott's Scrooge uttered his first "Bah, humbug", Tony had fallen into a fitful nap.

Tony hadn't been dozing long when a noise made him open his eyes. Suddenly, he had four visitors. Abby, McGee, Ziva and Gibbs were all gathered in his apartment and apparently had been watching him sleep.

"What are you guys doing here," Tony said, rubbing his eyes. "Did you all come together?" he said, confused.

"It was easier this way – bad weather, lousy traffic," said Abby, who looked amazingly like the Ghost of Christmas Past in a grey flowing gown that looked ethereal, yet mildly Gothic, and holding what looked like an antique hourglass.

"Yes," agreed Ghost of Christmas Present McGee, standing there in his blue "snow elf" costume and gnawing on a turkey leg. "Although I told you not to let the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come drive!" He turned and unceremoniously bopped Abby on the head with a holly branch.

"It wasn't my fault," said Ziva, dressed in dark robes that looked suspiciously ninja-like. "I couldn't see well around this hood. I don't understand why I'm here anyway; I don't even celebrate Christmas."

"Enough!" From the kitchen came Gibbs, dressed in dull shades of brown and carrying a chain that Tony could swear was made up of thousands of coffee cups tied together. The chain was wrapped around his boss' waist and dragged behind him, dripping coffee through the entire place.

"Um, Boss," Tony said. "The carpet?"

"It's ghost coffee, Tony," Abby said, with a reassuring tone. "It won't leave a stain."

This was definitely a dream. Tony willed himself to wake up.

Abby continued. "You've been a grumpy Gus all day long, and so we decided you needed to be reminded what Christmas was all about." McGee and Ziva nodded in agreement; Gibbs was obviously annoyed by his coffee cup chain and was wrestling with that, unaware of the conversation.

"I haven't been grumpy Abbs," Tony said.

"Who?" Abby replied, indicating her costume.

Tony sighed. "I haven't been grumpy, Ghost of Christmas Past," Tony said. "I'm just tired. It was a really annoying case, and the weather is cruddy, and there are only so many headsmacks you can take in one day."

The group looked at Gibbs. "What?" he barked, seeing their accusatory expressions. "OK, so I got carried away today. It's not like I'm not paying for it with this stupid string of coffee cups. Give me a break."

"It **was** a really long day, Abbs … um … Ghost of Christmas Past," McGee said in defense of Tony. "And Tony did actually solve the case," he added.

"Thanks Mc…" Abby cut him off with a look. Tony rolled his eyes and amended his comment. "Thanks McGhost of Christmas Present," he said. Then he looked to Abby with an expression that said, "Okay?" She smiled and nodded.

Tony looked at the other figure in the room. "And you, Ghost of Christmas Ziva," he said, looking back to Abby for approval. She nodded. "You didn't help things any by singing that stupid dreidl song all. day. long."

Ziva shrugged, her entire ninja ensemble shimmering with the movement. "Sue me," she said without remorse. "No worse than you singing that annoying 'Small World' song last summer when we were on stake-out. It took me a month to get it out of my head."

"Look," Gibbs / Marley said. "Can we just all agree here that DiNozzo had a bad day and is not suffering from some deep-seeded resentment toward Christmas, and call it a night?"

They all looked at Abby. She looked uncertain.

"God bless us every one?" Tony said, with a sweet and innocent smile.

Abby sighed. "Fine. We'll call it a night." The other three eargerly made their way to the door. "But I really liked this dress," she continued, with a pout. "It's so … flowy!"

"Maybe you could wear it on New Year's Eve," Ziva said helpfully, as they all headed outside.

"As long as Timmy's not in the elf costume," Abby said with a look over her shoulder.

"Hey," McGee said, whacking her again with the holly branch. "This was NOT my idea, remember?"

The four ghosts continued arguing as they (literally) disappeared into the night.

Tony jolted awake in time to see Scrooge showing up at his nephew's house for Christmas dinner and decided he really needed a shower and a change of clothes and a good night's sleep and maybe a nice stiff jolt of rum in his eggnog. Or maybe just a couple of shots of tequila. As he turned off the TV and made his way to the bathroom, he didn't notice the remnants of a turkey leg on the end table or the small group of tied-together coffee cups in the kitchen sink.

It was probably for the best.

**DECEMBER 23**

"Man," Tony said as he hurriedly stumbled into his apartment with three bags of groceries and two bottles of sparkling cider. "I am SO behind schedule."

A couple of days before Christmas, Tony always invited his whole team over for a holiday dinner. He did it every year, and it usually went off without a hitch. But they'd caught a late case today, and as much as Gibbs wanted to let Tony off early to go home and prepare, he just couldn't spare him. McGee had been loaned out to the I.T. department to cover for a half-dozen repair techs who had gotten food poisoning at a holiday buffet at one of the embassies, and Ziva had been called in to do some mandatory year-end visa paperwork. So it was just Gibbs and Tony holding down the fort.

It took them almost four hours to determine that the case they'd been handed was actually not an NCIS-jurisdiction case at all. But by the time they'd managed to get it written up and handed over to Army Internal Affairs, it was after five.

"Sure you can handle dinner tonight, Tony?" Gibbs had called to Tony as the younger agent grabbed his stuff and sprinted to the elevator.

"See you at seven, Boss!" Tony had said with a grin as the elevator doors closed behind him.

Tony had been hosting a "Christmas Eve Eve" Dinner since college. His first one had been when he was a sophomore and living in the frat house. All the guys had balked, initially, but after that first year they all looked forward to the annual holiday meal. The same was true of Tony's co-workers in Peoria and Philadelphia and anywhere else he happened to be at Christmas. There was just something therapeutic, somehow, about taking a few hours and sitting down to enjoy food, friends, and stories of Christmases past.

When Tony was a kid, his very Italian grandmother would prepare the traditional "Feast of the Seven Fishes" on Christmas Eve. It was one of Tony's favorite nights of the year. Tables would be groaning under the weight of all the food. There would be everything from fried oysters and linguine with clam sauce to marinated eel and baked cod. Not to mention all of the antipasti, side dishes, salads, soups and desserts. Tony would fast for three days beforehand, just to be able to eat everything.

He'd tried to orchestrate a Feast of Seven Fishes his senior year in college, but it was just too much to attempt in a frat house kitchen with limited cooking utensils. (That was also the year that the president of the frat discovered he had an allergy to shellfish and Tony spent more time in the emergency room than at dinner.) Ever since then, Tony scrapped the idea of trying to do a full-out fish feast, although he did usually include a seafood dish or two on the buffet.

Tony didn't try to make everything for the gathering himself. He'd make one or two specialties – usually linguini with clams and maybe the orange-and-onion salad he'd loved as a kid, the recipes for which he'd cajoled out of the family cook – but everything else was catered. He usually had a ham as the centerpiece, but out of respect for Ziva, he decided on turkey this year. He'd had it delivered, along with all the accoutrements, from a local deli and picked up the desserts from an Italian bakery a few blocks up. There was a case of wine and a few bottles of sparkling cider, along with whatever anyone else might bring.

The dinner was always a casual affair – people filling plates and sitting wherever they wanted to in the dining room and living room. There would be Christmas and holiday music playing, the tree would be lit, and candles would be supplying additional atmosphere. By the time the desserts and coffee had been consumed, everyone had shared at least one holiday tradition or one "this was the worst gift ever" story, and there had been at least one round of "Holiday Scrabble," which Ducky or McGee usually won. The only rule at dinner was that you could not talk about work. Any mention of a case or anything related to a case meant that you had to stand up in the middle of the living room and sing the Christmas carol of your choice. Last year Gibbs and Abby had both ended up in the penalty box. Gibbs reluctantly sang a verse of "Jingle Bells", while Abby regaled the group with a bright and jolly rendition of "Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer."

It was nearly seven o'clock and Tony was doing a final once-over of the apartment, making sure everything was in place. He double-checked bathroom supplies, made sure that there were enough glasses and silverware, and popped "Christmas with the Rat Pack" into the CD player. Dean Martin was singing "Silver Bells" when the doorbell rang, and Tony welcomed Ducky, Palmer and Gibbs into his apartment. A few moments later Ziva arrived, followed quickly by Abby and McGee. The feast had begun.


	6. December 24

_Author's Note: To all who have been reviewing, thank you! I've responded to all your reviews, but have no idea if you've gotten those responses. I haven't gotten a review alert, author alert or PM via for over six weeks. If you're sitting there thinking how ungrateful I am for not replying, please forgive the technological glitch (for which I am not responsible). If you've been getting my replies, then … well … good! Two more days left of Tony's Christmas – and I got a little long-winded, so they'll be posted separately. Enjoy._

* * *

**DECEMBER 24**

It was Christmas Eve, the 11th day of Christmas. On this day, Tony usually spent between three and four hours on the phone. He called aunts and cousins, college buddies and old police department partners, friends in other cities – all of those other people who he wouldn't see over the holidays. Some calls were a couple of minutes long and consisted of a "Merry Christmas" wish and a hope that everyone was doing okay. Others were more involved and included long explanations of things that had happened over the year or listening to long lists of amazing things that so-and-so's child had done. Most of the calls were merry, jolly affairs that re-connected Tony with people from his past, and he felt good about keeping in touch.

A couple of the calls were made with a kind of trepidation. Not "I'm walking into an empty warehouse and I'm not sure if there are any bad guys in here" trepidation; more like the kind of trepidation you feel when a woman throws her arms around you in a bar and says how wonderful it is to see you again and you realize you have no idea who she is.

One of those "Christmas Eve Calls of Anxiety" – as Tony had named them – was to Paula Cassidy, still stationed in Cuba. Paula never sent him cards or gifts, and never initiated a holiday phone call. Or, really, any other phone call. In fact, she barely kept in touch at all. But Tony still kept her on **_his_** list for phone calls and gifts. He wasn't sure why. She was just someone he couldn't quite let go of yet. He made the international call and, predictably, got her voicemail.

"Hi Paula, it's me. Just wanted to wish you Feliz Navidad. Hope you're well – call me sometime, would you? The occasional three- and four-word e-mails you send just aren't doing it for me." He paused and his voice took on a slightly less festive tone. "Seriously, Paula. Call me. It would be nice to hear your voice again. Make it a new year's resolution, OK?" He paused and then finished with an animated "Merry Christmas!" that sounded brighter than he felt.

Paula was usually Tony's first call of the evening. He hated the thought that he called her first to "get it over with," but that's kind of what he did. He liked talking to Paula – when she actually answered the phone. But just once, he'd like to finish a call with her that didn't feel like he'd just run a marathon.

His final call every year was his other big "Christmas Eve Call of Anxiety." It was to his father. Tony and his father had an on-again, off-again relationship, but Tony never missed a Christmas Eve phone call. Sometimes the call was a simple exchange of "Merry Christmas" greetings that took less than two minutes. Sometimes it was a friendly conversation that lasted a half-hour. But Tony had promised his grandmother that he'd always call his father at Christmas. It was important to her. DiNozzo Sr. returned the favor every year on New Year's Eve. Tony suspected that he, too, had promised to always do so. Like father, like son.

Tony's father picked up the phone on the first ring. Before he even said hello, Tony heard, "Well, son, you've certainly outdone yourself this year. How many people did you have to sleep with to get these Sean Connery tickets?"

Tony chuckled. "The list is short, but distinguished, dad," he said. "I'm glad you like them." His tone of voice was not at all indicative of the 'I got you this time' dance that Tony was doing in his living room.

"Yes," his father continued. "I think it's safe to say that you've set a new bar for giving the perfect, well-thought-out gift."

Tony did a silent pump of his fist into the air with a whispered 'YES!' and then resumed a more normal stance and tone of voice.

"Oh come on, dad," he said. "It's not a competition." There was a beat of silence as both men acknowledged to themselves that yes, it actually was. "Sometimes you just find the right thing at the right time."

"Well," his father said, allowing his son one more moment of 'gloat time', "I'm sure these didn't just fall out of the sky into your hands, and I'm grateful for whatever favors you had to call in to get them."

Tony grinned. Squeezing a thank-you like that out of Anthony DiNozzo Sr. was not an easy task. He'd gotten exactly the reaction he'd wanted.

"I suppose you're saving your gift to open tomorrow morning?" Tony's father continued.

"Of course."

"Yes – the 'rush downstairs at dawn and rip open the presents' scenario. I remember it well."

Tony doubted that. First of all, it was never dawn. They had to wait until everyone was up and dressed and had eaten breakfast. It was usually nine o'clock in the DiNozzo household before anyone was sitting near the tree handing out gifts. And even then, it was usually just Tony and his mom or the nanny. Tony's dad, by that time, would be in his study making and taking phone calls from business associates, passing on holiday greetings and setting up business meetings for the first of the year. Every once in a while, DiNozzo Sr. would stick his head out of the study and say, "Doing alright there, son?" and Tony would yell back, "Yes sir!" and the business calls would continue.

But Tony just replied, "Ah yes, the good old days."

Tony's father either didn't notice or elected to overlook the slight sarcasm in Tony's answer.

"Got any plans for tomorrow, Dad?" Tony asked, changing the subject and getting them back to neutral territory.

His father sighed. "It will be breakfast at the club, as always, followed by a late lunch and some gifts at your Aunt Louisa's. You?"

"I'll make the rounds, same as always," Tony said. He'd been invited to a half-dozen friends' houses for breakfast, brunch, lunch, tea, dinner and a late supper. If he timed it right, he could literally eat himself around Washington all day long.

"Have a good time, son, and if you find yourself with nothing to do, your Aunt Louisa would love to see you. She's not that far away, you know."

"I know, I know," Tony said. His father's sister was his least favorite aunt in the large DiNozzo extended family. When Tony's dad had cut off his allowance at twelve and made him justify every single expense from schoolbooks to new shoes, it had been partially at Aunt Louisa's suggestion. She said it would "build character" and teach Tony how to live without relying on the family money. Tony never understood that logic, as Aunt Louisa, to his knowledge, had never had to learn "how to live without relying on the family money." He'd never really been able to warm up to Aunt Louisa after that.

"Maybe next year," Tony said.

"Yes," his father replied, thankfully not pushing the issue. "Perhaps next year. At any rate, thank you again for the outstanding gift."

Tony grinned to himself again. His father hadn't been this effusive about a present ever. "You're welcome," he said, graciously.

"Merry Christmas," DiNozzo Sr. finished. "I'll call you on New Year's Eve."

"Buon Natale, Papa," Tony said, using the traditional Italian greeting his grandmother had taught him to say when he was six or seven. Tony's father chuckled and the two men hung up.

The phone calls completed for the evening, Tony turned his attention to the pile of presents under his tree. He always allowed himself to open one gift on Christmas Eve. This was not a tradition that he'd carried through his childhood and college years. This was a tradition he came up with four years ago when Mrs. Sims from down the hall kind of adopted him. He'd helped her carry groceries in one day, and then a few weeks later helped her un-stick a stuck window, and from that point on, she'd treated him as a grandson. Every once in a while, he'd come home to find a pan of chicken and dumplings or turkey and gravy or homemade macaroni and cheese on his doorstep. It was always right-out-of-the-oven warm. On his birthday (how she'd found out when his birthday was, he didn't know) she always made him a cake. Once when he'd been gone for nearly a week on an undercover mission, she admonished him for not telling her he was going to be gone. She swatted him on the arm and told her she worried about him when he disappeared like that. And then she handed him a box of homemade banana muffins and told him never to do it again. For his part, Tony would regularly ask her if she needed any chores done or needed a ride anywhere. Occasionally he picked up dry cleaning or prescriptions for her, and once a year on HER birthday (he was a federal agent, after all – he could find out lots of things) he'd take her out to dinner at her favorite restaurant.

At Christmas, Mrs. Sims always gave him an elaborately-wrapped box of cookies. They weren't just your normal run-of-the-mill Christmas cookies; these were works of art. She may have been a pastry chef before she retired or maybe she was channeling Martha Stewart, but the woman could bake a cookie. And they tasted as wonderful as they looked. After he opened the box on Christmas the first year, Tony resolved to always open it on Christmas Eve, and so that's the box he reached for.

He carefully removed the intricate bow and lifted the lid of the box. Lying there on crumpled tissue paper, each one individually packaged in parchment paper bags, were delicate snowflakes, decorated snowmen, hearty gingerbread men, and Christmas trees covered in flocked sugar. Some had holes at the top that were strung with ribbon, indicating that they were meant to be hung on the tree as ornaments. Others clearly said "Eat me NOW." Tony complied with both suggestions, hanging the snowflakes on the tree and unceremoniously biting the head off of one of the snowmen. The rest he put in the fridge to be portioned out during the week after Christmas, because eating Christmas cookies for breakfast was one of the best things about the holidays.

The ritual of Mrs. Sims' cookies complete, Tony went to shower and change for Midnight Mass. (Attending every year was another one of the promises he'd made to his grandmother.) When he returned, he'd keep the tree lit all night long so that he'd wake up to it in the morning. And before he went to bed, he'd leave out a plate of cookies and a glass of milk for Santa. Yeah … he knew it was silly. But one year in 6th grade, when his father was away on business and it was just Tony and the housekeeper holding down the homestead, he had abandoned the tradition and just gone to bed on Christmas Eve. When he woke the next morning, the presents that had been under the tree the night before were gone, and there was a note that read, "You should have left cookies." It took him about 20 minutes to figure out that Jess had snuck in from next door, grabbed the gifts and left the note, but it scared the heck out of him at the time.

Ever since then … cookies and milk for Santa. Just in case.


	7. December 25

**DECEMBER 25**

Presents!

He can't help it. He saves all his presents. Anything Tony gets from anyone gets held onto and put under the tree or in his stocking for Christmas morning. People always want him to open the presents in front of them, but he just can't. His parents were adamant about the whole "nothing is opened until everyone is up and properly attired." While that might seem a little like a micro-managed Christmas, Tony did have to admit that it really REALLY added to the whole excitement thing. And when you're alone on Christmas morning it's just a lot more fun to open up a pile of presents than it is to realize that you've opened everything already and will have to spend the morning channel-surfing while you wait for football to start.

Tony tossed the milk that had been sitting out overnight and got himself a fresh glass. He took that and the plate of cookies to the tree and sat down on the floor to open gifts. Tony started with the gifts he kind of knew about.

He got a variety of calendars from his frat brothers every year – it was its own little tradition that they sent each other 'girlie calendars' for Christmas. This year, Tony received the "Sports Illustrated Swimsuit" calendar, the "Stewardesses 2007" calendar (he chuckled at how much Kate would have **hated** that one) and the annual "Girls of Ohio State" calendar. He generally never even used the calendars, but tradition was tradition. Each calendar also came with an Armani gift card, which Tony DID use. He carefully tucked those away in his stocking so as not to lose them.

The next gift he chose was the annual biography from Kimmy. This year she'd sent him "The Pursuit of Happyness" by Chris Gardner. She'd put on the card, "I know you'll go see the movie. I thought you might also want to read the book." Argh. Now he had to decide whether to ruin the book by seeing the movie or ruin the movie by reading the book. That was so Kimmy. (And part of the reason they broke up, now that he thought about it.) He smiled and put the book on the coffee table next to the others he was reading.

Next up was the gift from his father. It had taken almost eight years for Tony to make clear to his father the futility of sending him power tools, chrome desk accessories or Home Depot gift cards for Christmas. DiNozzo Sr., clearly frustrated, had finally thrown his hands in the air and said, "Fine – what would YOU send YOUR son?" Thus began the tradition of season tickets to the Redskins (or whichever football team Tony was closest to at the time). It was a gift Tony really enjoyed, and one his father could certainly afford. Plus, it had the added bonus of taking virtually no time to purchase (an electronic renewal form simply had to be approved) and did not require wrapping or mailing, as they were sent directly from the season ticket office to Tony each year. It was a perfect gift, from the standpoint of Anthony DiNozzo Sr.

A couple of years ago Tony had managed to coax the old man into coming down to DC for a game. They'd had a great time until Tony's phone rang and Gibbs called him into the office. After nearly two decades of his dad pulling the old, "I'm sorry, but I have to go into work" thing on him, there was a kind of interesting symmetry in Tony making the same excuse to his father. And for the first time, Tony discovered how annoying it was to be the one who had to leave and endure both the wrath of the boss ("Took you long enough!") and the chiding of the one left behind ("You have to go in now? It's a Sunday!"). That was one of the first times that Tony understood a little bit of what it was like to be his father. And, probably, that Tony's father understood what it had been like to be Tony.

With the Redskins tickets peeking out of his stocking, he'd come to the end of the "I know what this is" gifts, so it was on to the mystery packages.

Tony didn't really exchange gifts with the NCIS team. Gibbs had instituted an informal "no gift" policy years ago (Tony suspected it was one of The Rules) and everyone stuck to it. When they gathered for dinner at Tony's place each year, they all brought wine and food and other treats that everyone could share, and that was considered to be more than enough. Tony did, however, exchange gifts with Abby. They'd been doing it since the year they met, mostly because Tony had been trying to win her over that year. He'd gotten her a small Goth-inspired action figure for her lab, which she'd loved. She felt so badly about not having gotten him anything that she went overboard the next year with insanely expensive concert tickets. They came to an understanding after that and kept their gifts to a "$20 or less" rule.

This year, Abby had made the perfect choice – a "Chocolate Voo Doo Doll." The doll was packaged with a selection of spells and recipes, a short history of voo doo, and instructions for "safe use." Tony immediately named the doll 'Ziva' and tucked it away until he **really** needed it.

Abby had also gotten him an autographed copy of "Deep Six : The Further Adventures of LJ Tibbs", which made Tony laugh uncontrollably. He was absolutely certain that McGee had no idea who Abby had bought the book for and had simply autographed it for her as a favor. The elaborate and flowing signature of 'Thom E. Gemcity' caused another convulsion of laughter. Abby had certainly outdone herself this year.

Liz's present was next, a flat, square box wrapped in paper that was covered with cats in Santa Claus hats. Tony chuckled. He tore open the wrapping, opened the box, and pulled out a Burberry scarf. Just like Liz to choose a classic. It had a light grey background with small stripes of dark grey, navy and brown running through it in an oversized plaid, guaranteeing that it would work with any coat he owned – from the brown bomber jacket to the black trench to the dark blue pea coat. Excellent.

Terri's gift was even more of a surprise. She'd gotten him a small, framed pen-and-ink drawing of the US Capitol dome. He recognized it as the same one he'd seen at an art show on the Mall last summer. He and Terri had been wandering through the booths when they came upon a local artist who specialized in architectural drawings. Tony had spent an hour going through the various drawings, trying to choose which one to buy. Just as he'd finally narrowed it down, Gibbs had called with a new case, and Tony had had to leave. Terri had obviously stuck around and purchased the piece for him. He chuckled to himself. It must have nearly killed her, keeping it a secret that long.

Next up was Jess. She'd sent three packages, all wrapped separately, with numbers on them. He opened #1 and burst out laughing. She'd taken a normal 'Ken' doll and created "NCIS Ken". The doll was dressed in a grey suit that looked a lot like the one he'd had to destroy during the Y Pestis thing; he was holding a gun in one hand and a teeny tiny "Sexual Harassment" manual in the other. Additional accessories included a laptop computer, a ball cap with 'NCIS' painted on it, and even a bullet-proof vest that she'd made herself. The box had been reworked just enough to add the "NCIS Ken" logo, and to add some hilarious commentary on the contents. Tony shook his head. Jess definitely had WAY too much time on her hands.

Box #2 contained a "Junior CSI" kit. It had a blacklight for finding blood, some red safety glasses, several pairs of gloves and all sorts of other usable items, like fingerprint powder and swabs. He'd have to show it to Abby. She'd love it.

Box #3 was a toy of a different type – Jess had sent him a new watch. It had a classic look to it, but had two faces, so that it could be set for two time zones at once. She'd set one face to his time zone in DC and the other to hers in Alaska. Attached to the watch was a note, "Check this before you call!" (The last time he'd called Jess, he'd called at 8:30 a.m. his time, which was about 4:30 a.m. her time. She was less than delighted to hear his voice.)

Tony's final gift was from his grandmother. She'd passed away years ago, but had left behind several family heirlooms for Tony, with strict instructions to release one per year to him on Christmas. They always arrived a couple of days before the holiday, beautifully wrapped, and bearing a sticker that admonished "Do Not Open Until Christmas." Opening his grandmother's gift was usually the highlight of the Christmas season for Tony. The gifts were of varying sizes and had held a diverse range of items. One year, he'd gotten his grandfather's roll-top desk; the next year, a set of crystal champagne flutes with the family crest. Last year, he'd received a shadow box of items from his parents' wedding. It was always something unexpected, wonderful and filled with memories.

The box this year was small – less than six inches long. Tony carefully unwrapped it. Inside was an exquisite Limoges Santa Claus box. It was only a few inches tall, but Tony could clearly remember seeing it on the mantle at his grandmother's house every year. It was his favorite of all her Limoges pieces because Santa was holding a puppy. Tony had wanted a puppy from the time he was old enough to say, "I want a puppy." His parents never gave in to his pleading. But every time he visited his grandmother, she'd make sure to take him next door to play with the two golden retrievers her neighbors had. And when Jess had gotten a mutt from the Humane Society in 7th grade, the two friends spoiled the dog rotten until they left for college and had to leave him behind. Tony could still remember Jess calling him in tears the year after he'd graduated college to tell him that Caruso had died. (They'd named him Caruso because he howled constantly during the first weeks she had him.)

Tony looked at the small Limoges figurine with a smile on his face and tears in his eyes. Who would have thought such a small thing could bring back such big memories?

With the opening of his grandmother's gift, Christmas was over. Well … not really. There was still a round of parties to make it to today, including what was sure to be an outstanding Christmas Tea at Ducky's (provided he could keep Mrs. Mallard's hands off the brandy and the dogs off of him). As Tony cleaned up the living room and picked up all the wrapping paper and ribbons, he took another look at the small porcelain Santa figure, now carefully placed near a photo of his grandmother on the mantle.

"Buon Natale, Nonna," he said softly.

And then he hurried off to get ready for the rest of Christmas Day.

* * *

_And there you have it. The twelve days of Tony's Christmas. As I see them, anyway. Wishing you all a happy 2007! (And no … I have no plans to write "Tony's Shiny New Year." Maybe I'll do that NEXT December.)_


End file.
